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also Polish, and that she had died.   He showed me
a  photograph   of her  lying   on  her  death-bed,
covered in lilies.   As the white wine and the songs
had rather gone to our heads we both burst into
tears.   I found out later on that it was not really
such a tragic story and that he had behaved very
badly to her and that the description of his tragic
feelings and great sorrow was really only put on for
my benefit.   The young men of the Quarter always
made a point of cultivating English and American
women,  as they were convinced that they had
money.    I was glad to realize later on that they
were quite frequently disappointed.    My money,
which was not very much, was beginning to give
out.   I had been in Paris for three weeks and had
decided that I could not possibly live in England
any more.   I had to go back and send in my resigna-
tion to my Art School, which I quite well realized
was disgusting behaviour.   I went back to London,
sent in my resignation, borrowed five pounds from
a friend of mine, and returned to Paris and the
abominable Pole.    He met me at the Gare St.
Lazare, looking quite clean.    He said, " Do not
spend your money on lodgings, come and stay in the
hotel that I do.    It is near the Cimetiere Mont-
parnasse, and costs very little."    I took a room
there.   I met with him an extremely nice Pole, who
lived in Modigliani's studio.    The first night I
stayed in a little hotel near the Avenue d'Orleans,
where I was eaten up by bugs.   I had met them
before in Grafton Street, and they certainly could
bite.  The next morning E. suggested that I should
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